


Far From You

by Marrilyn



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coronavirus Quarantine, F/F, Light Angst, Loneliness, Rejection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23879959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marrilyn/pseuds/Marrilyn
Summary: With quarantine having taken its toll on your relationship, you decide to win Rowena back by all means necessary.
Relationships: Rowena MacLeod/You
Kudos: 14





	Far From You

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt by my awesome friend midnightsilver.

Rowena was in a bad mood. Which wasn't a novelty; grumpiness seemed to be one of the woman's default settings, right alongside whining and attention-craving. However, the imposed quarantine seemed to have taken its toll on her, her regular irritation rising to levels that were, at best, barely tolerable, and, at worst, made you want to go outside and hug the sickest-looking stranger in order to get some time away from her.

It wasn't always that bad, though. For the most part, she just sat in silence and huffed and rolled her eyes at random things. That was, when she wasn't cursing out the politicians and the irresponsible people who'd made these safety measures necessary on the TV — a few times quite literally _cursing_ them, eyes sparkling violet as she willed her magic to strike.

To say she was handling it badly would be an understatement.

Rowena was a social creature. As happy as being home with you made her, she loved to travel. Loved to explore different places, experience the world, get to know it. Being holed up in a house was worse than prison. At least prison could be escaped from without fear of catching a nasty disease.

It wasn't that she was afraid of dying. The devil himself hadn't managed to kill her, and neither would a measly virus. But she wasn't too thrilled about the possibility of getting sick. So she stayed home. Like a good little girl, she obeyed the officials' rules and holed up, leaving only when it was her turn to get the groceries.

Though she tried not to let it get to her, the changes in her temper made it clear she wasn't handling the situation well.

Not that you were any better. You weren't an adventurer like her, but you missed your freedom. Missed walking the streets, the sun bathing your hair, Rowena's hand in yours, a wordless but firm statement that she was yours. Missed heading to different restaurants, or ordering delicious food home. Missed Rowena randomly telling you to pack your bags, a promise of a new, exciting adventure sparkling in her eyes.

But, most of all, you missed _Rowena._ You were living in the same house, yet, as of late, it had started to feel like you were strangers. You still talked, but it was strained, distant. Like two random passengers on a plane discussing the weather to pass the time. You barely touched each other. When you kissed, it was pecks on the cheeks and mouth — solely initiated by you. An empty, passionless habit. A learned routine rather than a loving gesture. And sex… you'd engaged in it twice since the quarantine had taken place, and it, too, lacked its usual passion.

The quarantine had taken its toll on your relationship.

Today, sick of the distance, of the constant cold amidst the warm house, you decided to fight it. Decided to fight for your relationship. Things were horrible, not just in the United States but everywhere in the world, but that didn't mean your life had to be the same way. You could still live. You could still be the couple you'd worked hard to become.

What you had was worth fighting for.

So when Rowena went on another tirade against politicians as she watched the morning news (looking quite ready to throw her steaming mug of tea at the TV), you said in your most irritated tone, "Okay, I get it — you hate them. No need to get so worked up. It's not like they give a damn."

The look she shot you had to have killed before. You would have been frightened had you not known her the way you did. She might have been a serious threat, but when it came to you, she was a puppy. A cute, glare-y puppy who finally paid attention to you after days of nothing.

You plopped down next to her on the couch, set your mug next to hers, and shot her your brightest smile. "Hi!"

Rowena rolled her eyes in the fashion of a trained theater actress. Over the top, dramatic, her style to a T. She picked up a large grimoire that was resting next to her and spread it open on her lap. It was one of her newer books, acquired mere days before the quarantine had taken place. You'd looked forwards to exploring them with her, learning new things, asking questions she would pretend to be annoyed at but would answer with the ferocity of a teacher eager to spread her knowledge. Just like old times.

Instead, she'd taken to reading the books on her own. Using them as a distraction from the awful things happening in the world.

A distraction from _you._

You tried not to let it get to you too much, but it stung. Your heart clenched with pain, with ache that ran deep to your core. Like poison coursing through your veins, burning you up from the inside one little bit at a time. It was as though she'd grown bored of you. As if being holed up with you inside a tiny house had made her resent you. As if it made her realize living with you wasn't the fairy tale you thought of it as and she couldn't wait to get away from you.

 _You're overreacting,_ you told yourself. But, even as you kept repeating to yourself that this was just a temporary thing, that it was stress, a sliver of a doubt still nibbled at you. What if Rowena didn't want you anymore? What if she'd had enough?

You still wanted her, you reminded yourself. You missed her. You _loved_ her. And you would do anything to get things back to the way they used to be.

You leaned your head on her shoulder, which earned you another glare. You ignored it, eyes darting to the yellowed pages of the book that must have been older than the two of you combined. Intricate illustrations adorned the paper; those of flowers, of herbs you didn't recognize. They were surrounded by words in a foreign language. Written in an elegant handwriting, the writing gave off a feeling of class, of beauty. Whoever the witch that had written it was, she had obviously been a lady.

"What's it say?" you asked, feigning nonchalance. Heart, all the while, beating wildly, begging for a response.

Rowena eyed you for a few moments before turning her attention back to the book. "It's potion recipes." Matter-of-fact. Straight to the point. No trace of the warmth that usually accompanied her words.

On the bright side, she responded. It was something. Not much, but a start nonetheless.

"What language is it?"

"Italian."

"The book looks pretty old. When was it written?"

"The 1500s."

"Is the witch who wrote it still alive?"

"No."

"It's really cool that you can understand it."

No response. Not even the usual smile at the compliment. As if you hadn't said a word.

Your heart sank, but, insistent to complete this mission you'd tasked yourself with, you sucked in a breath and pecked her on the cheek.

Rowena flinched as if burned and shot you a startled glance. You smiled innocently. Sighing, she went back to her book.

Another failed attempt. Was there anything you could do to get her back? To get her out of her glum state? To make her your girl again for, as of late, it seemed she was distant from you?

To your knowledge, you hadn't done anything wrong. There had been no arguments — not even the pretend, teasy ones the two of you sometimes got into. You hadn't broken anything hers, or messed up any spells. It was as if she'd just decided she wasn't in the mood for you, that you were too much for her to handle. So she ignored you.

As much as it hurt, you weren't going to let her get away with it. You couldn't. Not after everything the two of you had gone through. You'd survived Lucifer. You'd survived her flashbacks and nightmares. And you would survive this.

Desperate, tears pricking at your eyes as pain squeezed at your heart, dove razor-sharp daggers into it over and over like a merciless killer, you leaned down to Rowena's shoulder and pressed a kiss into it. It was a small kiss, soft as silk, a swift, brief brush of lips against skin. A promise of more, so much more — all she had to do was want it.

Rowena stiffened. You laid another kiss to her shoulder, then another, trailing all the way up to her neck. Her skin was soft, incredibly tender; as expected, a small moan escaped her as soon as you reached her most sensitive place. She could be as mad as she wanted, as confused, as indifferent — the neck kiss always did her in.

Her greatest weakness, even in these difficult times.

"Y/N, what are you doing?" There was a hesitation in her voice, mixed in with the cold that coated her words.

"Having some fun," you said, then kissed her again. And again and again and again, and ran your tongue over a tiny spot just below her ear as if she were the most delicious meal, and then kissed it, and around it. A little game you couldn't get enough of.

"Why?"

Because she wasn't paying attention to you. Because you were lonely. Because she was grumpy. Because you both needed a little distraction from the horrors of the world, and what better way to get it than some intimate fun?

"Why not?" you countered. Dared her to defy you. To push you away as she had for days.

Your teeth grazed the sensitive skin, the milky white flushing red, soon to be a beautiful, rich purple. The kind of mark you hadn't left in what felt like ages. Rowena gasped at the sensation, satisfied despite pretending otherwise. Her vein throbbed underneath your mouth, heart racing, blood running hot.

You couldn't resist a smile. _There we go._ That was your girl! Goodness, you missed her!

The magic was short-lasted, though, as a moment later Rowena pulled away, looked you straight in the eyes, and, serious as a heart attack, said, "Have you gone bloody mental?"

You sighed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Did your best to remain calm because your thoughts were screaming and you wanted nothing more than to throw a tantrum and then curl up and cry your eyes out.

"Maybe I just wanna spend some time with my girlfriend!"

She looked at you as if you'd suddenly grown a second head. "We're together all the time!"

You used to be. Not lately.

"We would be if you weren't ignoring me." If she could play dirty, so could you.

"That's ridiculous!" she argued. Defensive. Second-guessing, but she wouldn't admit it. She was never one to admit she was wrong.

You'd expected it, really. Had prepared yourself for the blow. That didn't make it hurt any less. Throwing your arms up, you got to your feet and started pacing. Restless, nerves short circuiting, heart pounding like a hammer against your ribcage. _Relax,_ you told yourself. _Just relax._ You'd wanted this fight. You couldn't give up now.

You looked her in the eyes with all the intensity, all the sincerity you could manage. Made sure she knew you meant business. "You barely even look at me. All you do is scream at the TV and read your books." Her outbursts were fun at first, entertaining. Now, they were exhausting. There were only so many times you could laugh at the very same curse words, even if they were Scottish. "It's like you're sick of living with me."

A tear slid down your cheek; you wiped it with the back of your hand and sniffled. Willed the rest of the tears to stay back, to not betray you at a time like this. You hated arguing with Rowena. You were used to peace in your relationship, to hugs and kisses and love and laughter and everything happy and bright. Whenever you argued, it felt like a piece of you was being torn apart. As if, if you went too far, if you pushed too many buttons, she would decide she'd had enough and, just like back in her wicked days, she would turn her back and leave.

You knew it was silly. Arguments were part of a relationship; they were healthy, so long as they were nuanced. But a part of you couldn't let go of the notion that fights would be the end of everything you knew and loved. It terrified you to the bone, and with the fear came more tears, and before you could try to stop them again, you were crying.

"Darling, that's not—I could never get sick of being with you," Rowena said. "I don't know what you think is happening, but, I can assure you, I've no ill feelings toward you." She flashed a smile, one of those bright, honest ones. "I promise."

You swallowed a lump that had popped in your throat. Gulped in a large breath. "You're always in a bad mood. And you never pay attention to me." You realized you come across as a needy, whiny child, but it was the truth. You felt ignored. You were ignored. Your usually attentive girlfriend had suddenly turned you a cold shoulder. "You don't kiss me back anymore. Don't even get me started on sex. Even when you sleep, you turn your back on me."

She pondered on your words. Twisted and turned them in her head, thought them through. When she spoke, her words were laced with regret, "Y/N, you've got this all wrong." She stood up and reached for your hand, tiny fingers wrapping around yours. The kind of touch you were yearning for, that you were missing. "I suppose I _have_ been a tad distant these days. Not because of you. You haven't done anything wrong."

You allowed yourself to breathe out with ease.

"It's this house. I'm sick of being locked inside all the time," she elaborated. "It's starting to feel like a prison. I miss our wee trips." She pouted. "I miss dinners in my favourite restaurant."

You chuckled.

Rowena smiled. "I miss our walks. Going out for groceries hardly counts as going out."

"I miss it, too," you admitted. "All of it." But, most of all… "I miss you."

"I'm… sorry." It was hard for her to say the words. Two years into her redemption, and she still struggled with apologizing. "I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I love you, you silly girl. I could never tire of you. Even when you interrupt my reading."

She accompanied that with a small glare, a feigned one.

You rolled your eyes. "Gotta get your attention somehow."

"You've got my full attention now." Her eyes fell to your lips. Trailed down the length of your body. She was so close; you could smell her skin, almost taste her lips. "What is it you would like to do with it?"

"I can think of a few things."

You kissed her, deep and hard. She reciprocated instantly, drawing you in, arms snaking around you to pull you right where she wanted you. She tasted of promise and love and everything sweet, everything you were missing. You melted into her as she took lead, her tongue exploring your mouth, tasting it, marking it. Making it clear that it was her territory, her ownership.

Goodness, you missed this!

Parting for breath, you kissed her again, then pushed her on the couch a tad rougher than necessary and straddled her. Your mouth was back on her neck, kissing the previously marked spot. Licking and biting and sucking, leaving a trail of blossoming bruises in your wake.

"That's it, darling," Rowena moaned in her thick accent, which only made you got at it harder.

Maybe the quarantine wouldn't be so bad after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Edited by miss-moon-guardian.


End file.
